


Let Me See You Stripped Down To Bone

by AubreyGuim



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-25 21:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20918966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AubreyGuim/pseuds/AubreyGuim
Summary: A lot of teenage girls talk about being different, being more than the rest, Victoria Macardy is the opposite. She is perfectly normal, exceedingly regular, a dime a dozen girl from a small town with nothing more to offer.Except when she’s not.Victoria Macardy is the biggest tragedy that’s swept small town Vennaville, Oregon in years. 15 years ago to the day, her serial killer father made headlines as his corpse along with her older sister’s was dragged out of their house followed by the discovery of the dozens of cadavers of missing people hidden in their basement and a haunting letter from their mother published by the local news paper detailing the horrors their father had incited upon them.But there’s a happy ending for all that, because Victoria got adopted, and she became a cheerleader, and she has straight A’s and she’s great at piano and whatever was in her serial killer father didn’t make it into her.It didn’t. It couldn’t have. She’s Victoria Macardy. She’s normal.





	1. The Prelude —This Is How They Grow Up

_“You know what happened to her, right?” They will ask as she passes you in the halls every time her name is brought up in conversation “Poor girl, you remember what happened to her family, right?”_

_Right?_

___

_“Isabella! Isabella, no!”_

___

She’s seven years old, there are men in blue uniform everywhere and they’re right in front of her house. “Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” He asks, quietly, as though anything too loud will shatter all the glass in a 5 mile radius. His face is kind but Victoria will not be fooled, her mother told her a lot of people look kind, they only deceive. She shakes her had and looks down, she will not look up again.

“I can’t talk to strangers,” she whispers back, remembering daddy’s lessons, _never speak to strangers_. 

“If I introduced myself, would I still be a stranger?” Victoria hesitates, _never speak to strangers_, she repeats to herself.

“Stop talking to me,” She snaps, taking a few steps backwards. “I’ll scream!”

“Listen—” he starts again but Victoria pushes him on the shoulders hard enough to make him fall from his squatting position. She turns and runs.

___

She ends up 9 streets away, a full five blocks where she was originally found (_a full 5 blocks from home, Victoria, you’ve been a bad girl._). She only stops because of a girl on a bike who nearly runs her over.

She takes the impact to her chest, and for a brief second she can feel something erupting in the same spot, something sinister and cruel that begins whispering things as soon as it comes out. 

(_“Daddy, I don’t want to,” Victoria whimpers. Her gentle hold on the hamster is slowly tightening, her hand is engulfed by her father’s. She can’t do anything to stop it. _

_ “Victoria, don’t lie to me,” Her father whispers into her ear from where he is bent over and leaning against her shoulder. “You want to. You’re the same as me.” _

_ It’s the first time she’s ever killed something. She is horrified by the thought that it won’t be her last._)

She thinks about grabbing the handlebars and tipping the bike over, she thinks about taking her pristine, white shoe and hitting her over the head with it until the red stains, and then:

She looks up, and she finds black hair, light eyes and and Victoria (not Victoria) calms.

She doesn’t know why (_the girl looks like Isabella, the girl has that same message in her eyes “Calm down, Vic. Calm down,”_) but she just does.

(_Isabella had black hair, Isabella had grey eyes, Isabella said things would be okay, things will be okay now._)__

She ignores anything that tells her there’s something deeper to it.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria forces out, and even to her it sounds strangled.

“It’s fine,” the girl responds, taking the hand offered to help her down only out of politeness if the way she gracefully swings her leg is any indication. “my name’s Diana,” she twists the hand onto its side and turns the princess hold into a handshake. 

“Victoria,” Victoria responds, blearily. She realises that she’s light headed and that her knees are trembling beneath her. Diana’s eyes widen and she’s pulled forward, right into the girl’s arms and Victoria tries to thank her but her mouth feels like it’s full of cotton.

__

She distantly recognises the fact that there is a woman behind Diana, half running towards them, screaming Diana’s name. There is a tone of hysteria in her words, “Diana what did you do?”

___

__  


“Isabella, no!” Her mother cries out “Isabella, what did you do?”, but Isabella only drives it in further. Isabella please don’t stop, Victoria thinks to herself, don’t stop.

Isabella, for once, listens to her.

___

It occurs to Victoria then what the scene must look like to outsiders, the red that is staining her dress, the way Diana is holding her, her hand obscured by the positioning of their bodies, it’s all very suspicious. _Diana didn’t do anything wrong_, she wills the woman to know, _she didn’t do anything wrong_.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria repeats, placing her hands on Diana’s shoulders and pushing herself up to a standing position, in spite of the still-unsteady feeling in her legs. “I-” she stops herself, what can she say? The woman looks like she’s on the verge of calling the police. It’s clear she’s at a loss. _Adults are supposed to know what to do_, Victoria thinks bitterly. She looks at Diana, Diana who is silent, who is completely still, who is still holding her up, despite knowing that she’s most likely going to get in trouble for it, (_who looks like Isabella_) who doesn’t deserve this. Victoria makes a split second decision and takes it upon herself to fix this. 

Victoria pulls the tears out of nowhere and the performance after comes easy.

___

She’s good now, better than she was before. The story spills forth without hesitation or stumble (_Easy, take it easy, Victoria._). The woman, who she now knows as Ms. Harolds, is forgiving. She gives Victoria one of Diana’s dresses and a pair of black shoes to replace her red-stained outfit. They don’t really fit but Victoria nods and accepts them anyway.

“Victoria we have to call the police, do they know what happened?” Ms. Harolds asks.

___

_“Victoria, call the police!” Her mother cries “Victoria you need to call the police!” _

_ When Victoria doesn’t move she assumes, wrongly, that she is in shock. “Victoria, honey, your father and I will die if you don’t call the police!” _

_ Victoria understands. Victoria still doesn’t move. _

___

She is seven years old and Ms. Harolds adopts her. She and Diana share a room and, all things accounted for, they’re normal.

She thinks, maybe this is it. Isabella promised a new family, a new life. (_Close your eyes, Victoria, close your eyes and don’t open them until the noises stop. Just keep your eyes closed and we can start over._) it’s everything Isabella said she’d get. 

Except for Isabella herself.

She doesn’t take it for granted. She plays with Diana, studies the books given to her and keeps her head down. 

And whenever that something blooms out of her chest, she looks to Diana and pretends she is Isabella. 

She’ll be a good girl for Isabella, a good girl.

___

_“Be a good girl, Victoria,” her father whispers, “be a good girl.” He is large and hulking and Victoria keeps quiet. She makes eye contact with Isabella. _

_ Isabella who is slumped over the kitchen table, Isabella who can barely stand up, Isabella who grips the knife tighter, Isabella who promises to make things better. _

_ “I will make things better for us, Vic, I promise,” Isabella swears to her, through her eyes, through the voice in her head, through the physical boundaries that keep her from saying it out loud. She will make things better._

_ She will be a good girl, for Isabella._

___

She makes good on her promise. For the first few weeks, she is picture perfect. She goes to therapists, multiple, enough that she is familiar with all the questions they’re going to ask. They all say she is adjusting admirably well. She doesn’t tell them she’s been waiting all her life for this change, as long as they say she is good, she will keep quiet.

Still, Victoria should have known she couldn’t escape trouble for long.

They’re at a playground, Victoria is sitting idly at the swings, simply watching as Diana goes about. She looks away for half a second, not even long enough to take a full breath, following a spec of dust with her eyes, and when she looks back to find Diana she can not see her. 

She circles the playground twice, and is about to turn around and walk away when she sees a group of boys in a semi circle. She squints for a moment, then catch a glimpse of black hair from between two boy’s shoulders. 

That something in her chest comes out, it’s hungry. 

When she comes back to, she’s being held back by Diana’s arms around her chest, over her arms. Two of the boys are on the ground, the third is up against the plastic wall of the slide, trying to back away. The one closest to them is clutching his elbow, his hand comes away wet with something dark and red (blood, she drew blood?).

“Don’t come closer,” Victoria grinds out. Diana is whispering quiet, sweet things into her ear (_Let it go, Vic, come on, let’s just leave, he’s not worth it._) but Victoria does not look back, she will not risk letting go of this.

“Who are you?” He snaps, scrambling to his feet, looking put-off.

“My name is Victoria Macardy,” Victoria says, stepping forward, straight into his personal space. “And you won’t touch her again.” 

“Macardy?” He asks, “oh, wow, okay.”

“Is there a problem with that?” Diana bristles, going to Victoria’s side. 

“It’s just, you said your name is Diana Harolds,” he smirks. 

“It is,” Diana grits her teeth, biting her lip in clear frustration. 

“But you said she was your sister,” he continues, as though there had been no interruption. 

“She is,” Diana snaps, and suddenly Victoria is the one holding her back.

“Well, you don’t have the same last name,” he reasons, with fake confusion. “That means you’re not sisters.”

“If you don’t get it, then that’s on you,” Victoria cuts in, tugging insistently on Diana’s arm. Thankfully, Diana takes the hint and lets Victoria drag them away.

Later, when they get home, Victoria asks Ms. Harolds what he meant. 

Ms. Harolds mistakes her question for her asking what Macardy means (_Victoria knows what it means, she is what it means._). She tells the story of a young girl and her serial killer father. Her serial killer father, her runaway mother (_weak bitch_) and her sister. Ms. Harolds unfolds her legacy like a scroll, her serial killer father was mentoring his children on how to continue his life’s work (_Ms. Harolds laughs softly at this, looking relieved. “And despite that, you turned out to be such a gentle soul,” she says, Victoria doesn’t bother correcting her. If she thinks she dodged the bullet, Victoria will not be the one to inform her that it’s stuck between her eyes._) and her mother, a badly abused woman had left when she was just 6, all she had was Isabella.

And one day, Isabella had gotten tired. Isabella stabbed her serial killer father in the stomach, in the chest, slashed a wound in his neck, only to be beaten half to death in the process. As one last ditch effort, Isabella had stabbed him through the mouth.

When the EMTs got there, they were both dead. 

Victoria nearly laughs at Ms. Harolds naivety when she realises she knows the story better. She refrains from telling her this though, and just nods her head. 

Ms. Harolds sends her to therapy for her numb response, and they chalk it up to shock. After that, Victoria resolves to play her role better.

3 months pass. 

Diana becomes her sister, for all intents and purposes, and, Ms. Harolds says to the other parents, _it was surprisingly easy_.

___

She is nine years old. It’s been two years since she was adopted. Ms. Harolds bought her a service dog. Victoria doesn’t love it, but she doesn’t hate it either. It sleeps at the edge of her bed.

She wakes up to screaming, Charlie is dragging the duvet off of her and urging her to get up. It isn’t an unfamiliar situation so at first she doesn’t bother because her mother never thought to muffle the noises, never thought once that she should try to be strong for her children so it isn’t a surprise, but then it occurs to her, all at once, that her mother is gone now. Who is screaming?

Diana, as it turns out, is the one screaming. She finds her on the floor of the bathroom, back pressed against the side of the bathtub and backing away desperately. Victoria thinks to herself, _is she scared of me?_

She isn’t. There’s a lizard on the sink, and Diana screams at her to help. Charlie is barking at it and Victoria snaps. She helps the only way she can. 

She looks Diana in the eye and takes it into her hands. She decides that it wouldn’t be out of place for her to kill it. Diana is in distress and she’s asking her to do something, do anything. 

Victoria closes her fist tight, the way her father did all those years ago. She doesn’t mind the crunch, the wet feeling that is left after, it’s part of the charm. Charlie whimpers, Diana winces at the sound and Victoria thinks, weak, you’re so weak. 

But Diana surprises her. 

She stands quickly and takes Victoria’s hands, pushing them into the sink and letting the water flow. It washes away easily, much too easily, and something in Victoria aches for it to stain. 

It is methodical, rational, Diana’s fingers force themselves between hers, they are rubbing at the red fiercely, and it reminds her of how her mother would wash away the evidence of her father’s hands and what they’d done. Victoria fights to keep from flinching. Victoria lets Diana’s hands pour soap and water onto hers as though it will take away what happened. 

Then, Diana is letting go, and Victoria thinks for a moment she has let go, has decided it’s not worth it (_maybe she’s more like mom than she is Isabella_) but the flush rings loud and clear. 

She realises Diana wasn’t giving up, she had just finished the job. She sees a flash of the lizard’s body as it swirls around the toilet. The sides are staining red, and a burst of something gruesomely close to happiness explodes in her head. She stares until it is gone and the water is still. Charlie has left them by the time she averts her gaze. 

When she looks up she expects to find anger, or disgust, or uncertainty, anything of the sort. 

Instead, she finds that Diana’s eyes are piercing. She knows what the weight of that was. It is undeniable. There is a certain intelligence she hasn’t been met with in a long time, something akin to her own and it feels like a breath of fresh air. Something that is clean cut, so very big and meaningful and, above all, understanding. 

She isn’t all dark like Victoria, or even like Isabella who was half of whatever Victoria is right now, in fact, she’s only that slightest bit of grey, but that is fine. Victoria can work with grey.

___

She is ten years old and in fourth grade. She had never been in school, but the therapists had seen her notable intelligence and had given her a test. Now, she joins Diana.

The dangerous affair that they started that night doesn’t stop, in fact, the more they are around each other the closer they get. People start treating them like one unit and Ms. Harolds is completely supportive of the development, it is a healthy coping mechanism (_Victoria doesn’t tell her that she doesn’t need to cope, it’s fine for her to assume whatever she wants as long as Victoria still gets what she wants._).

She and Diana spend their summer days endlessly in each other’s company, they take Charlie for a walk in the mornings, spend the first half of the afternoon in the library reading the classics side by side, and the other half in the park, eating lunch on the grass. Afterwards they’ll explore the neighbourhood on their bikes before finally heading home, always before dark.

During lunch, which is arguably the best part of Victoria’s day, Diana always lets her fiddle with her hands, trace the bones and muscle under her skin and press the pads of her fingers into the visible veins. Victoria will do it every single day without fail. She is always indefatigably interested in how Diana’s fingers move, how the sinews connect the muscles together, the range of motion between the digits, it’s an unwavering type of curiosity. These are the moments when she can forget about Isabella and just be with Diana. 

“Does this help?” Diana asks one day, never specifying what it should be helping with. That’s fine, Victoria doesn’t mind if she’s too squeamish to refer to it directly, she’s the only person that acknowledges at all so as long as she doesn’t hide from it, it’s fine. 

“Yes,” Victoria answers without hesitation. “it helps me remember that you’re,” Victoria pauses, struggles to come up with a word to describe it. How can she? Diana’s never felt what Victoria feels, she doesn’t get what Victoria sometimes neglects to feel or internalise. “—alive.” Victoria finishes lamely, shrugging, unable articulate it.

Diana makes a humming sound, fingers twitching in a gesture that means continue. 

“It’s like,” Victoria tightens her grasp, just to feel the pound of the pulse heavier, before letting her grip go slack. “I know that you’re alive, obviously. It’s a fact, but it doesn’t sink in.” She blows a rough breath out of her nose, “It’s like how people know a billion is bigger than a million, but they don’t truly understand that until you explain that you have to make one thousand millions just to get a billion, right?” She shakes her head “That’s a stupid example, what I mean is—”

“I get what you mean,” Diana cuts her off, and Victoria can practically feel the beaming smile being sent in her direction, like she’s glad she understands. Not for the first time, Victoria thanks everything that Diana isn’t scared of it, if she was Victoria wouldn’t know what she’d do. “Is that all?”

“It gives my hands something to do,” Victoria admits, “I mean, I could probably just spend my time solving a rubix cube but it’s different, when I touch you, you’re responsive. A rubix cube can’t do that.”

Diana hums again, then pulls her hand away, standing quickly. She begins walking towards her bike, knowing Victoria is already following. “I have an idea,” She says when Victoria catches up. “Follow me.” 

They end up at an old music store. Diana leads her in and drags her to a small corner, near the back and leads her up the steps. Finally, Diana finally stops in front of a small stage.

“Here?” Victoria asks, surprised.

“Do you know what this is?” Diana questions, pressing her hand atop object in the middle of the stage.

“It’s,” Victoria pauses, embarrassed. She doesn’t know what it is. 

“It’s alright if you don’t, Vic,” Diana smiles kindly, “It’s a piano.” She makes a vague gesture that Victoria takes to mean, come here. 

“What do I do?” Victoria asks as she comes up. Diana doesn’t answer, only ushering her on to the bench. 

“Put your hands on the white rectangles,” Victoria does. “Good, now press down,” Diana instructs. Victoria does.

The sound makes her jump, and then she grins. 

“It’s responsive, just like you want,” Diana smiles. “Obviously I can’t make it alive but—”

“Can we come here every day?” Victoria asks, cutting her off. She’s quiet, hesitant to change the rhythm of their schedule. 

“Of course,” Diana tilts her head to the side, chuckling “anything that helps.”


	2. The Corruption of Diana Harolds

When they get to high school they have all their classes together. Victoria joins the cheerleading squad, she starts track, she plays volleyball on the weekends. Diana joins the Mathletes, she starts chess varsity, and joins Victoria on the weekends when she can. 

Their GPAs are good, never anything less than a 3.3 and whenever Ms. Harolds speaks of them, she speaks with pride. 

Victoria continues to play the piano, her music teacher calls her a prodigy, the human metronome, the college scouts whisper amongst themselves, the arson, the crowd calls her. Every time she plays, the audience has lighters in the air, the venues become massive burning shows of adoration. Lately, it’s become quite the gimmick, it’s even been put on the posters they use to promote her shows. 

Diana sings sometimes, when Victoria plays, she sings and they’re the perfect pair. 

(_When she is sitting next to her on the piano bench the only thing Victoria can do to ignore the something in her chest saying that’s where Isabella is supposed to be is play harder, longer, more savage than she ever has._

_ People say she plays better when Diana is there._

_ She doesn’t say she’d be the best if it were Isabella. She only laughs and says Diana is her muse. _

_ People think it’s cute._)

“It’s always magical when you play,” Diana tells her one day when they are in the choir room alone. It always surprises Victoria how comfortable Diana is being alone with her, even knowing what she is. 

She’s sitting atop the piano while Victoria idly fingers out the most simple version of Für Elise there is. It’s peaceful.

“Thank you,” Victoria responds, she’s barely paying attention to her to her hands, going over Diana’s facial features over and over with her eyes, uninhibited, it helps to pretend she is Isabella. 

“You’re always more relaxed this way,” Diana continues, leaning down to express the deepness embedded in her words “I’m serious, Vic.”

Victoria can read between the lines, she takes a hand off the ivory keys to trace Diana’s cheekbones, all the way to her jawline, and through her touch communicates that she knows what Diana means. “Tell me what you want me to play,” Victoria says after a moment, and doesn’t follow up with any restrictions because she knows she can do whatever Diana asks of her. 

Diana thinks a bit, then smiles “Alla Turca,” she requests languidly, deciding to give a challenge. 

Victoria takes a few seconds to herself, the waking something in her chest pushing her to be selfish for a few more moments (_Don’t let go, Victoria, don’t let go. Hurt her._), before she finally pulls away (_controlling me is foolish_), and launches into the most complicated version of All Turca possible.

Control, she thinks, is the one thing she can manage right now.

___

When they get to high school they have all their classes together. Victoria joins the cheerleading squad, she starts track, she plays volleyball on the weekends. Diana joins the Mathletes, she starts chess varsity, and joins Victoria on the weekends when she can.

Their GPAs are good, never anything less than a 3.6 and whenever Ms. Harolds speaks of them, she speaks with pride. 

Victoria continues to play the piano, her music teacher calls her a prodigy, the human metronome, the college scouts whisper amongst themselves, the arson, the crowd calls her. Every time she plays, the audience has lighters in the air, the venues become massive burning shows of adoration. Lately, it’s become quite the gimmick, it’s even been put on the posters they use to promote her shows. 

Diana sings sometimes, when Victoria plays, she sings and they’re the perfect pair. 

(When she is sitting next to her on the piano bench the only thing Victoria can do to ignore the something in her chest saying that’s where Isabella is supposed to be is play harder, longer, more savage than she ever has.

People say she plays better when Diana is there.

She doesn’t say she’d be the best if it were Isabella. She only laughs and says Diana is her muse. 

People think it’s cute.)

“It’s always magical when you play,” Diana tells her one day when they are in the choir room alone. It always surprises Victoria how comfortable Diana is being alone with her, even knowing what she is. 

She’s sitting atop the piano while Victoria idly fingers out the most simple version of Für Elise there is. It’s peaceful.

“Thank you,” Victoria responds, she’s barely paying attention to her to her hands, going over Diana’s facial features over and over with her eyes, uninhibited, it helps to pretend she is Isabella. 

“You’re always more relaxed this way,” Diana continues, leaning down to express the deepness embedded in her words “I’m serious, Vic.” 

Victoria can read between the lines, she takes a hand off the ivory keys to trace Diana’s cheekbones, all the way to her jawline, and through her touch communicates that she knows what Diana means. “Tell me what you want me to play,” Victoria says after a moment, and doesn’t follow up with any restrictions because she knows she can do whatever Diana asks of her. 

Diana thinks a bit, then smiles “Alla Turca,” She requests languidly, deciding to give a challenge. 

Victoria takes a few seconds to herself, the waking something in her chest pushing her to be selfish for a few more moments (Don’t let go, Victoria, don’t let go. Hurt her.), before she finally pulls away (controlling me is foolish), and launches into the most complicated version of All Turca possible.

Control, she thinks, is the one thing she can manage right now.

___

“Control is the best part,” her father says to her one day, he does not make her kill something with her bare hands this time.

The hamster is in it’s carrier, safe from all external harm.

“I don’t even have to touch it,” he tells her. There is a giddy smile on his face. “I only have to let it rot.”

The days pass and finally, one morning, it is no longer moving.

A savage feeling overcomes her, and she drinks it in the way her father told her to.

___

They are partners in biology class and when the day comes to dissect the frog, Victoria stills herself.

Diana hands her the scalpel wordlessly (_See? She accepts me, why can’t you accept me?)_. It fits well, it fits _perfectly_ and when the time comes, the blade slides smooth.

___

_The metal of the belt buckle digs into her back, her father pays no mind pulling his arm back, he whips her again. It drags a rough line diagonally down her back, leaving red in its wake. It doesn’t cut, it rips her skin apart, and she thinks, why didn’t he just use the knife? It would’ve made this easier for both of us._

_ She won’t makes the same mistakes he does._

___

Victoria fights the urge to dig it in deeper, she keeps the cut surface level, doing only what she needs to. Diana stares from the side, she doesn’t comment on Victoria’s shaking hands, or the glint in her eye, or the sadistic way she slows down when she’s nearly at the end, as though she doesn’t want to stop just yet. She simply waits. When Victoria finishes, she reaches over to take the tongs and pry the frog’s abdomen open, she doesn’t make it before Victoria loses it.

It was brief, but she lost it. 

When she comes back to herself, Diana is gazing at her, wide-eyed and cautious. The feeling in her limbs returns two seconds later, and she realises she has Diana’s wrist in a vice grip, twisted in an angle she knows is painful. (Turn it, force it to break, you can do it.) It’s fragile, she can feel the junction of the bone, where the hand meets the arm and it’s so delicate that Victoria can feel the veins. She studies its anatomy for a moment, fascinated by the way Diana’s pulse is beating too fast for it to be just pain. 

There is fear there, but timid, it isn’t fast enough to be panic, or even just plain fear. Victoria takes a chance, makes herself glance at Diana and in her search finds caution. 

Caution, which is so very typical of her, to be unafraid of what Victoria will do but cautious of what she could do.

They both know that Victoria is strong, and in that moment something hard gets stuck in her chest, because she very suddenly knows that she could break Diana should she so wish it. 

And, in a rare moment of indulging her monster, Victoria squeezes. The sound that escapes Diana’s throat is something primal and hurt, but despite the pain Victoria knows is present, Diana doesn’t try to fight.

___

_There are no locked doors in her house so Isabella shoves Victoria in the bathroom and says “Hold the door closed like this,” She demonstrates the angle at which Victoria should keep it, “Don’t let go, Vic, do you understand?”_

_ “Do not let go.”_

___

Victoria lets go.

___

“What happened?” Diana asks, it’s sophomore year and she’s holding Victoria by her wrists, keeping a safe distance between them. Victoria doesn’t tell her that she could easily overpower her if she wanted, she lets Diana pretend she can hold her back. Diana tightens her grip so much Victoria can feel her pulse beating heavily against her skin. “What happened, Vic?” There’s a tremor to her voice that Victoria hasn’t heard in a long time. It holds both barely restrained anger and slight panic.

“Diana,” Victoria says lowly, she can’t keep this up. 

“Oh my god,” Diana mutters, finally loosening her grip and looking like she might get sick. Immediately, Victoria can feel the blood rushing back into her hands “Jesus Christ, Victoria.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she actually means it.

“What did you do?” she’s crying. Victoria pulls away from Diana’s grip and wraps her arms around the shaking girl. She buries her hands in Diana’s (Isabella’s) black hair. The red disappears in the dark locks. “Chester, where’s Chester?” 

“If they ask, he’s a cat, they wander off sometimes,” Victoria says, openly resolute, and Diana feels like she’s going to be sick, “we don’t know anything.” 

Diana feels herself nod, jaw tightening as tears burn in her eyes. “We’ll help find him,” she says, though she knows it’s the thinnest of façades, “go out with the search party, the works.” 

Victoria nods like she approves, then softens. Her eyes trace Diana, takes her in, and its like breathing for the first time. Diana looks angry, downtrodden, god-forsaken, but she’s still Diana. Still as made of stone as ever. If it were her she’d be broken down, done and tired. 

But it’s Diana, and Diana rolls with the tide. Even if it drowns her sometimes. 

And Victoria aches with guilt. 

“Where does this leave us?” Victoria questions softly. She feels the familiar burn of tears springing to her eyes, but for once she hasn’t called them for the sake of performance, they’ve come by themselves. She thinks, _I’m so sorry_.

It takes a few moments, but Diana pulls away. They’re still close enough that Victoria can see the grey in her eyes, the calculations that rocket through her pupils and for once Victoria thanks the gods, not for this simmering darkness that’s put them in this situation but the abilities that came with it. Victoria had always been intelligent, doubly so with reading people; an innate knowing she’d been blessed with and it only gets better the closer she gets and she’s never been closer to anyone than she is to Diana. It takes barely a second to find what she needs, the forgiveness that allows the tightness in her chest to loosen. 

“Where did you put it?” She asks quietly and Victoria feels the sharp twang of panic resound in her chest like the sound and feel of a guitar string wrongly plucked. That something in her is suddenly spreading itself out like a cat stretching in sunlight, lashing its ivy vines like whips against it’s cage—one that was not meant to control a monster of this caliber. The bars are bending, she can practically see it.

Then—

Diana’s palm is warm against her cheek, the nails are scraping against her scalp, fingers threaded through her hair, thumb resting against her cheekbone, ghosting a demon whisperer’s calming song onto her skin and Victoria breathes a long breath. The rough sigh of a soldier who’s been fighting a downhill war and has only just tasted the tiniest of victories.

“Please don’t ask me questions like that,” Victoria pleads quietly, she forces a stiff arm gentle and has her hand disappear into the open part of Diana’s jacket to pull her closer by the waist. All her movements are carefully crafted to the edge with the intention of only ever being soft in her presence, and she can feel the control thrumming in her veins. She’s back to where she can feel safe turning her face into Diana’s touch, tracing a diagonal line on her palm with the tip of her nose and pressing her apologetic lips into the wrist laid bare to her, the wrist that has been presented, uncaring of the teeth that are much too close for any other’s comfort. “you don’t have to—” (_to what, Victoria? To save you? She does and you know it._)

“Do not finish that sentence,” Diana snaps, her hold tightens on Victoria, nearly digging her nails in before she catches herself. “Where did you put it?”

“I’ll show you.”

___

It’s the beginning of junior year. Ms. Harolds is crying over Charlie. He is sick. They need to have the vet put him down.

“I can’t do it,” She’s saying, over and over again, and despite herself, Victoria can feel that little something in her chest waking, with no small amount of irritation (She’s so weak).

Diana chances a glance towards her, (Calm down, Vic. Calm down.) looking away quickly before it is caught. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on her mother’s shoulder.

“We’ll do it,” Diana murmurs, she got her driver’s license a few months ago. Victoria hasn’t tried for it, Diana takes her everywhere anyway. Diana looks at her again and she reads it clearly. Victoria leaves the room to look for Charlie’s leash.

___

Diana makes the wrong turns, she isn’t going to the vet, she drives slow and relaxed. Charlie sits in Victoria’s lap and he’s whimpering quietly, she can just barely hear it over the static-y chatter of the radio.

Diana slows to a stop by the side of a large open field. She looks at Victoria for a long moment, and for a second Victoria thinks she will continue to drive, thinks she will pretend she hadn’t tossed a shovel in the back seat, pretend she hadn’t driven them purposefully away from the vet to a place where no one will see them and just turn the car around. And then she looks away, resolute and made of stone. She unlocks the doors.

Charlie runs out of the car as soon as Victoria lets him. He’s slower than usual, but he manages to make it into the field. Diana gets out next. Victoria only stares.

Diana sighs softly, then rounds the car and pulls the door open, offering a less-steady-than-usual hand to help Victoria out. 

Her feet hit the pavement, but it feels different, there’s a certain buoyancy that she doesn’t usually feel. She feels as though she is floating on solid ground, and Diana holds onto her hand tighter, as though the adjusted grip will make it so that Victoria can’t feel the trembling shudders that run through it. Victoria tugs on it a little, before falling to her knees, Diana close behind her. They ignore the moist grass and pretend to watch Charlie play.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Diana withdraws her hand from Victoria’s hold. She brings two fingers up to her lips, then lets loose and ear-shattering wolf whistle. Victoria can feel it breaking open the cage that her something (_So you’ve taken possession of me then? You’ve accepted me?_), the thing she’s been locking up has been sitting in for months. It creaks and roars, and, as Victoria catches a glimpse of the grass rustling that is rapidly approaching them, it doesn’t settle. 

Victoria shifts, the anticipation is making her lungs burn, her stomach is tighten, bursts of the first emotions she’s felt in months unsettle the tension in her shoulders. She can feel Diana looking at her, and she keeps her eyes to the ground. That something inside her stills, just for a second, under the assaulting heaviness of of Diana’s (Isabella’s) stare. She thinks, for a moment, she might get back in the car and tell her to drive them to the vet instead, because she thinks that something is backing down. As long as Diana keeps looking at her like that, being close to her like this, looking at her the way Isabella used to, keeping close the way Isabella used to, she will be fine. 

But then Charlie barrels into the space between her and Diana and the spell is broken. It comes back, twice as big, twice as hungry and Victoria blindly shoves her fingers into the dirt beneath her, quietly beats her fingers inside the ground like she’s just playing the baby grand in the choir room at school and Diana’s just in the crowd which is why she’s looking at her that intensely and Charlie’s bambi eyes are the audience’s adoring stares. It would make it better if she wasn’t so on edge, if she wasn’t so ready and the fact that her pulse doesn’t calm only makes her surer of how far gone she is now. 

“You’ve been such a good boy,” It’s so silent Victoria might have missed it, usually would have missed it, had she not been so hyper-focused on everything Charlie and Diana are been doing. “Such a good boy, Charlie, if I could make it better I would. I love you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Victoria offers, as her hands move of their own accord, pulling Charlie out of Diana’s arms. Diana merely shakes her head, the beginnings of a gruesome smile tugging on her lips. She stands and walks away Distantly, Victoria realises she is pulling out the shovel. 

Victoria doesn’t look away from Charlie, she brings him in for a hug, because she has grown fond of him, just enough to make it difficult to do this, but not enough to stop her. Slowly, she moves her hands up from his body to his neck, and she circles it with her arms. Her chest is a blazing fire now, and she can feel herself tightening, slowly but surely. Charlie begins to struggle, tiny whines only urging her to continue. He’s thrashing around in her grip, his claws are beginning to dig into her thighs and she can feel him growling low in his throat but he’s weakening. Victoria does not intend for him to suffocate, so she quickly straightens one of her arms, shifting the shoulder on that side up and twisting sideways until—

—there is a snap, then a crunch, a soft whine and then (_It’s loud, it’s so loud, “Close your eyes Victorica, close them and don’t open them until the noises stop.”_) Victoria opens her eyes and there is quiet. It is a delicate collapse. Charlie stills then goes limp and Victoria thinks, with what is as close to remorse as is possible for a person like her, that he was such a good boy. 

She wants to laugh, it’s so easy, it’s so freeing, and then she wants to get sick and then she lets go of Charlie and gets to her feet. Unsteady, is the word that comes to mind when she stands, she feels indescribably strong and unhinged from all the barriers that were once so impossible to escape. The numb that’s been plaguing her for so long has been lifted so suddenly it feels like the sudden rush of everything. She grapples blindly for something and is met with Diana. 

Diana’s arms clasp around her so tight she can feel ribs unsettling inside her chest, her nose is pressed to the dip of Diana’s neck, teeth bared and angrily digging into the skin of Diana’s warm chest, it’s the best she’s ever felt and she hates it. Several minutes have passed when she realises she is cry-laughing into Diana’s pristine white shirt. “Why am I like this?”

Diana doesn’t respond for a long moment, a mix of hesitation and remorse and Victoria already knows before she speaks “If I could change it,” she draws herself away to look at Victoria “if I could fix it, Vic,” she nudges Victoria’s forehead up with her own to force eye contact and Victoria very nearly flinches away; it’s a close call but she keeps herself still by will and thinks to herself, if anyone should be scared it should be Diana. “sweetheart, you know I would.” Diana sounds desperate and unflinchingly, unwaveringly on her side. 

Victoria bites her lip so hard she can feel skin breaking. She digs her long pianist fingers into Diana’s hair, plays out what would be a grieving song into her scalp, her other hand clutches at Diana’s forearm, nails tugging on skin so hard she’s almost surprised Diana hasn’t told her to stop. She can feel the tight, sharp intake of breath above her as Diana swallows the pain. It’s long before they’ve both steeled themselves but eventually Diana pushes her back, gently and yet insistently “We have to bury her.”

Her hands still, then jerk violently out of her control. 

They end up around Diana’s neck, squeezing. Victoria looks up and realises that hours must have passed, the sky, which was a brilliant flare of blue, purple, orange and yellow is now rapidly darkening, where it was once lively like a candle with burning flames, Victoria can now see the darkened wick wilting. She forces herself to turn her attention back to Diana, because the sunset is there every night but Diana has a limited amount of time, and when she runs out she will run out. 

One side of her, the dark and psychopathic part, wars to see it happen, to see Diana’s wick burning low and blackening like the sky, to see her grasp and scratch uselessly at Victoria’s grip, to feel the larynx underneath her palm collapsing under the pressure, to see her die. 

Victoria shudders at the thought, and doesn’t know whether it’s from fear or excitement. 

The other, the one who is caring and compassionate, who battles endlessly to keep in control, wars to protect Diana, to run and keep her as far away from Victoria as possible, to make sure she lives a long and happy life.

And yet, inevitable as it is, the bigger part of her wins. Victoria knows now, in this moment that it always will. As soon as she gives in, she regains her vision, here, it seems to be saying, _I’m sorry for your loss—have a condolence prize_. It allows her to look in, as though she is the one intruding, as though it is the real thing and she is the one vying for control and where she is supposed to be frustrated, she is grateful. She can not, will not, let Diana die alone. 

So, despite the disgust and anger she feels, she looks.

She sees Diana, who seems to be realising something at that same moment. Diana whose hands come up to touch hers, not clawing desperately like she had predicted, but resting them there. The way she does when she’s driving and Victoria happens to put her hand on the centre console of the car. It’s so kind and forgiving, Victoria forces herself to look her in the eyes. 

And then—

It’s Isabella. She looks exactly like Isabella. 

At the end of the day, the only reason why Diana Harolds is still alive on Thursday, November 12th, is because she looks exactly like Isabella Macardy.

Her grip loosens, her tension-filled shoulders lower, the tugging sensation in the small of her back weakens and she feels the relief of a battle well won pushing the hardened breath out of her lungs. She lets go. 

“We can’t pretend this is okay anymore,” Victoria forces out through grit teeth, resignation and defiance warring in her frame. Diana is already walking away from her, shovel slung over her shoulder and searching for soft ground as though nothing has even happened.

“I’ve never said this was okay,” Diana responds quietly, and had the wind been more lively, had the rustling grass been any louder Victoria wouldn’t have heard it. It sounds like a shameful admitted deed rather than a correction and Victoria realises that for Diana, it is. 

“But you’ve accepted it,” Victoria counters, with more bravery than she had, “don’t lie to me.” 

“Victoria,” it’s a small slip of a sound, barely a breath more than a whisper. It’s endlessly resigned and Victoria thinks, as guiltily as anyone like her can, that she did that to her. 

“But you have,” Victoria insists, she knows that this is a fight they need to have. 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Diana laughs, taking the shovel and resting the nose against the ground before slamming her foot down against the metal and forcing the entire mouth into the dirt. She shakes her head and looks up, laughing harder at the look on Victoria’s face, “No, really, that was an honest question because I was under the assumption that we couldn’t do anything.” 

“You have to stop me before I destroy you,” Victoria snaps, lifting her chin in a gesture that is serpent like, something that would remind you of a King Cobra rising to a challenge, something that has more fight in it than anything else she’s ever done.

“News flash: we passed the point of no return ages ago,” Diana says sardonically, “we passed it when we came here,” she gestures to the field and for the first time Victoria realises how this place is the tomb for all the better parts of life she’d been able to enjoy up until now. “If you think this is the beginning of the song, you're dumb," Diana frowns, “We’ve been dancing since the day we first met—Victoria you have to wake up.” She shakes her head the way a mother would at her child’s naivety, “These are the cards we’ve been dealt.”

“I’ve been dealt,” Victoria corrects, suddenly tired “Just me, you didn’t ask for any of this—”

“But I’ll deal,” Diana retorts. 

“But you don’t have to,” Victoria responds, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe I should just—”

“Just what?” Diana cuts in, sharp and angry.

“Just leave.” 

Diana is in front of her in half a second. A hand presses against her chest and before Victoria can even register the movement, the crown of her head slams against the door of the car, producing a loud metallic clang that has her ears ringing. Victoria’s vision goes white and her head lolls forward out of her control, distantly, she tastes blood in her mouth. Diana’s hand comes up and takes her by the chin, hold so rough that she bites back a gasp only by keeping her breath. Her nails are claw-like, grasp tight enough Victoria can feel them digging into bone. Her legs give way beneath her but Diana steps even closer, pinning her hips to the car with her own. “Don’t ever say anything like that to me again.” 

“Diana,” Victoria murmurs, forcing her eyes open “you know it’s better for—”

The crack of Diana’s palm against her cheek sounds like thunder in her ears, pain explodes on that side of her face, leaving the stinging sensation of blood stopping in its path. Something liquid and whole runs down the side of her mouth and she bites her tongue to keep from crying out. Her hand comes up to clutch at the split lip without thought and Diana’s own hand meets it, manipulating their positions so that her wrist was bared to her. She forces her fingers between Victoria’s, desperately, not even bothering to find the right placing and leaving her index and middle finger in the same slot. Her grip is despairing, trapping them in a convoluted type of hand holding. Victoria thinks to herself, not for the first time, that she’s always been good at ruining the purest things. 

“You don’t get to do that.” Diana mutters feverishly, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Victoria’s, tracing a line down the bridge of Victoria’s nose with the tip of hers. “Not when I’ve refused, not when every single time I knew it would be easier to turn away I stayed.”

Victoria never noticed it before. She never noticed and it all washes over her in half a second. Diana is immovable now, and everything that comes with that is inevitable. It’s disbelief that strikes her dumb, being blessed with a person’s unwavering belief. She traces the lines in Diana’s irises with her eyes, the way she carries herself reminds her of a brick wall, her breaths move both of them, pressing Victoria tighter against the car with every inhale, stomach to stomach and chest to chest, there is barely any space to breathe—and Victoria is very suddenly aware of the emotions Diana had been harbouring for what must’ve been years. Reverence that borders on worship; dedication that outlasts faith in gods.

This is the type of devotion that makes martyrs.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria says, words falling from her lips before she can stop them, “I won’t say it again.” 

“Promise me,” Diana murmurs, her other hand balling the cloth of Victoria’s t-shirt and pulling her even closer. “Promise me.” 

“I promise,” Victoria answers, feeling like her tongue was made of lead, knowing it meant absolutely nothing at all felt heavier than pretending she would feel anything if she broke it. 

“Good,” Diana responds, closing her eyes and nodding her head twice, like it would affirm it more than what she’d already said and Victoria knows, intrinsically, that Diana knows she’s lying. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Diana mutters, straightening and letting go all at once. Something in Victoria’s stomach dies at the statement, a sour taste rising to her mouth.

She walks back to where she’d left the shovel and restarts her task and Victoria takes the silent cue. She walks over to Charlie’s body and picks him up, carefully, with as much respect as he’s earned. They set about finishing the deed and when Victoria glances back at Diana, she could swear she sees a darker shade of grey than before.


	3. This Is How It Goes: Victoria Moves and Diana Covers

It’s Senior year and it’s Victoria’s biggest show, the town movie theatre is shutting down for the night to have her play and dozens of music scouts are coming. Diana knows that for anyone else it would be a big deal, would have them hyperventilating over anxiety but Victoria looks as though it were a normal day. 

It’s a bit unnerving, if Diana’s being honest, because if the music scouts like her she could go big—could go major league. She could skip college and go straight to millionaire status, play huge concert halls in New York, could leave this small town and never look back but Victoria is sure. Calm and collected in a manner that speaks of a day well-worn, as though she’s completely fine with everything that’s going on and Diana has begun to panic in her behalf. Diana herself invited some of them. 

She did a bit of research, a man, a college talent scout by the name of Andrew Smith, five times accused of sexual harassment, five buried cases, five teenage girls from small towns willing to do anything to get into a college like Yale. Andrew Smith fancied himself invincible to the authorities, a man who’s very definitively deserving of all that is coming to him. Diana doesn’t like to think herself a victim, simply because it isn’t true and could never be because she has Victoria. This living, breathing monster who has chosen to look after her, _but_. 

But today she’s willing to play the part, wearing a Sunday dress that belongs in the 1950’s only with a shorter skirt, a tighter waist line, a lower neckline, she’s trying to pull in a predator for her predator. 

She has to get back on track. Victoria is acting unnatural. 

“You’re kind of,” Diana pauses, trying to find a word that wouldn’t be offensive, a different phrasing for ‘creepily unaffected’ “being weird,” she finishes lamely. 

“You don’t understand why I’m not scared,” Victoria surmises “it’s freaking you out a bit.” Astute blue eyes meet hers through the mirror and Diana tries, and fails, to hold back a flinch. She knows Victoria means no harm by her analysis but when the girl does things like this, things that remind Diana that Victoria isn’t just her sister but something bigger than that too—she feels remarkably like she’s being hunted. 

And she probably should, after all, the best predators look like prey. 

Victoria laughs softly at the look on her face, tilting her head to the right and Diana is struck, startlingly by something that feels like a mixture of affection and fear. Like if your puppy started growling, and Diana nearly laughs at the thought.

“Just say what you need to say,” Victoria chuckles patiently, finally setting the comb down. She sweeps her light golden-blonde hair to the side and runs her fingers fleetingly through it. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Then, yeah—it is freaking me out a bit,” Diana admits, laughing ruefully. She crosses the room and settles her hand over Victoria’s. “Can I do your hair?”

An off look crosses Victoria’s face, she’s never understood Diana’s fascination with her hair but she nods in acceptance anyway. “I still don’t get why you insist on doing it for me,” she says, voice gone quiet now that Diana is close enough to speak softly to. “I’m perfectly capable.” 

“I like it,” Diana says with the exasperation of someone who’s tried to explain a concept over a dozen times, “your hair is always so soft and easy to work with.”

Victoria smiles up at her, “Whatever.”

Diana smirks, taking the ponytail from Victoria’s wrist and three bobby pins from the table. She holds the bobby pins between her teeth as she separates Victoria’s hair into six sections. 

“I don’t know why I’m so calm,” Victoria reluctantly allows, “it’s weird, isn’t it? I should be like,” she flounders for a word, “worried, right? I just don’t feel it.” 

“You don’t have to be,” Diana soothes, smoothing her hand over Victoria’s shoulder, letting it linger for a second longer before resuming her task. 

“Do you think,” Victoria abruptly stopped herself as Diana’s nails grazed her spine from where they were braiding her hair. Diana stops herself from laughing just by biting her lip, forcing herself to ignore the spark of life that came from Victoria’s jolt. She brings herself back into the conversation because she knows Victoria’s serious when she doesn’t laugh at herself. “—maybe it’s, just like, not something I can feel?”

“That’s not true,” Diana says, “you know that’s not true,” she shakes her head, “and anyway, this isn’t the time to think about that.” She twists her hand, pulling the braid into a neat bun around Victoria’s head. 

There is a moment of silence, then—

“Okay,” Victoria accepts, finally, nodding. “Okay. What time is it?”

“Five minutes ‘til show time,” Diana responds, playing with Victoria’s earring, letting her hand drift lower to grip Victoria by the jaw and tilting the girl’s head to the side before bending down and pressing a delicate kiss to the very edge of Victoria’s mouth, “go get them, _killer_.” 

(_Diana always did have a gruesome type of humour; why do you think they get along so well?_)

“You know I will.” Victoria smiles into the touch, turning her head and pressing her forehead against Diana’s temple. Despite her efforts, the hitch in her breath is undeniable. 

Diana lets herself stay for just a moment longer before she turns away. “You look exquisite,” Diana says quietly, staring at their reflection in the mirror. It is said in one breath, a tiny allowance that should not have ever been granted—but she can’t help it. Diana can feel the heady daze of adrenaline filling her stomach and lungs, as it always does when she’s this near Victoria, and forces herself to ignore the way she aches to indulge it. 

They always were closer than the usual pair of siblings. 

This is very closely toeing a line in the sand, a line that Diana had drawn ages ago when a blood-stained little girl in a lace white dress ran into the street and got run over by her bike. One that Diana and Victoria have been dancing around for years and had just now gotten dangerously close to being destroyed. 

Victoria had been pushing against the line for years, had chafed under it’s oppressing weight, had haplessly urged and nudged at it, only giving it reprieve under Diana’s watchful care. Diana, meanwhile, had been endlessly tending to the tiny breaches Victoria managed to tear open and had never once imagined herself to be the one to initiate it’s siege and now, under her own volition it had begun to disintegrate right in front of her eyes. While Victoria had been the raging river she’d imagined would wash it away, she had failed to watch herself; the dark ocean who’s tides would sweep the beach clean. 

Victoria rolls her eyes, she looked almost exasperated by her own beauty. “Okay,” she says, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t understand. 

“I’m serious,” Diana insists, apparently having lost complete control of her mouth. “Like an 18th century painting, the ideal picture of beauty.” She turns her head to press a kiss to the side of the bridge of Victoria’s nose.

Finally, Victoria seems to realise the weight of her words. “Thank you,” she says, and despite the tremble in her voice, manages to accept the compliment gracefully. 

She’d gained that over the years, just somewhere along the line, she picked up the augustness and class of a true lady. She’d become near suffocating in her prettiness and it isn’t even something that’s easily overlooked, it’s something you can’t stop seeing. You see her, you swallow, you think, god she’s beautiful, so you look away, but then you look back. Because you can’t help it. 

Once again, Diana is struck by how easy it is to forget all the bad things, to just leave behind the worries that make her spine grow stiff and her breath come hard and she wishes, for once, with the full intent of selfishness, that things were always this easy. A knock on the door disrupts the peaceful atmosphere and from the deep sigh that leaves Victoria’s chest, Diana knows she felt it too. Diana straightens, ignoring the way Victoria grows uneasy at her distance. 

“Come in,” she calls out. Ms. Harolds pokes her head through the doorway two seconds later. 

“They’re calling for you,” Ms. Harolds says, directing the statement to Victoria. 

“Aren’t they always?” Victoria jokes, standing and purposefully brushing past Diana. Just then, they hear the host introducing the set and Victoria shakes her head, “Guess that’s my cue. Pray for me?”

Diana laughs, “Just go,” she commands, leaning against the chair and trying to dispel her previous thoughts, all the while avoiding eye contact. 

“Fine, fine,” Victoria retorts, she sounds casual but Diana can sense the tightness. “I’ll see you in the crowd?” There is an undertone of nervousness, as if she thinks maybe Diana will leave and a pang of guilt hits Diana square in the chest.

“Of course,” Diana answers, looking up and forcing herself into meeting Victoria’s eyes. The applause of the audience is audible even back stage and Diana lets herself smile. Victoria still doesn’t move, it’s a small moment of hesitance, something that Diana readily dispels with a carefree shrug. “Your people are waiting, go meet them.”

And finally, Victoria does.

___

Diana has seen other pianists attempt this piece, but none of them have tackled it with as relaxed an air as Victoria. She looks almost serene under those spot lights. While others had a frantic edge to their playing, her pace seems almost comfortable. Like none of this is even remotely near the capacity of her playing and maybe it isn’t, maybe she needs a bigger challenge because if it wasn’t for the sweat on her brow Diana would think she looked almost bored.

She gives the illusion of complete and utter control, looking so intimately familiar with the keys that she doesn’t really _look_ so much as glance passingly, as if only to affirm their positioning and not to truly locate them. 

Suddenly, as if struck by an idea only in that very moment, her playing tapers down, slowing significantly and leaving the piece at an idle fingering. She pulls the mic closer towards her mouth with one hand and continues with the other. Diana holds her breath, feeling like her chest might collapse if she takes in any more air. This wasn’t the plan, they hadn’t discussed this at all and Victoria hadn’t given any indication that she might want to do something else. “Listen,” Victoria starts, smiling winningly, “I’ve just about finished my set but I’ve got two more things I want to show you. Are you okay with that?”

The crowd pauses, looking vaguely confused because this isn’t in the event paper they were given but they murmur an agreement amongst themselves anyway. 

“Okay,” Victoria continues, sounding relieved and Diana feels sympathetic, she can’t fail now. The stakes are too high and Victoria knows it. “This is one of my own compositions. I’ve been working on it for about a week now.” And with that she launches into one of the most complicated sounding symphonies Diana has ever heard, it almost sounds like 2 people playing two pianos at once, and Diana can feel the shock wafting through the audience. She’s struck dumb, near speechless with awe and affection that swells heavily in her chest. 

“That’s my girl,” she whispers to her mother, shaking her head in disbelief. Before long the song had reached it’s crescendo and has started winding down and right before she stops, Victoria looks up and catches Diana’s eye. 

“One last,” Victoria suddenly promises, before starting a simple tune. It’s perhaps the easiest piece Diana has ever heard her play and she thinks to herself, _why would Victoria follow up that mind-blowing piece with something as rudimentary as this?_ It makes no sense. 

And then Victoria answers her thoughts, settling a lingering stare on Diana’s shoulders, the way she does when she can’t meet her eyes and mouths ‘for you.’. Victoria opens her mouth and, to the astonishment of the crowd, begins to sing. 

“_It’s a part of me, Gabriel,_” she starts, “_I wish I could deny, the face I barely recognise._” She sounds sweetly apologetic, like a singer in the roaring 20’s, classic and refined with an edge of grace that isn’t usually found in people from this decade. Not for the first time, Diana thinks that maybe Victoria was born to be eternal. “_He lives inside of me, everyday of my life and I can hear him—screaming in the night._”

It takes a moment, takes a fucking decade but when the meaning registers, it’s a stabbing realisation. The point has been made, has been taken like a javelin to the chest. Diana can hardly breathe, feeling like she’s been struck over the head or been forced to swallow poison. Victoria is looking at her with melancholic blue eyes, like rain drops in spring time and Diana can feel the ice in her chest thawing. It’s an apology, for what she is, for what she’s always been and—

_You’re perfect_, Diana wills her to know, _absolutely perfect_. 

Victoria’s answering smile is the genuine article, the one Diana sees during their bi-weekly movie marathons when one of the characters are getting murdered. It’s a testament to how far gone she is that it doesn’t make her nervous because it really, really should but instead it makes her warm over.

And, as Victoria’s eyes loiter carelessly analysing the rest of the crowd just a bit too sharply, she thinks to herself, _maybe symbiotic relationships are possible between predator and prey_. 

Victoria’s gaze meet hers again, still sharp, still analytic, still predatory, _gotcha_, it says, like she knows Diana loves her, and Diana knows, without even a shadow of a doubt, that _predators will always stay predators, and prey can get smarter but they will always be prey_.

___

“It’s good to meet you, Andrew.” Victoria smiles warmly, taking his hand in hers and stepping aside to make way for Diana to stand next to her.

“It’s good to meet you too,” he replies, then his eyes slide to the right and rest on Diana. “And you,” he continues, and though it is phrased as a statement it is said like a question.

“Diana Harolds,” Diana introduces herself, lowering her eyes demurely and shifting closer.

“The girl in the front,” he says slowly with a hum of recognition. 

“My sister, yes,” Victoria corrects and confirms all together, a proud edge to her voice. 

“The one the song was written for?” He asks, all innocence, but immediately Diana recognises the probing tone in his voice. She doesn’t like it at all, the way his eyes scan up and down, unashamed in their brazen investigation, the manner by which he questions them, it doesn’t sit right. She knows immediately that those accusations were true and all five girls were telling the truth. 

Still, she knows how to play this game, they are, after all, not exactly the people they say they are. In fact, she’s sure she’s been playing for much longer than this man has—and if the way the town worships them is of any indication, much _better_ than this man has. Diana raises an eyebrow, allowing herself to relax into Victoria’s side as if she doesn’t know exactly who he is, “Yeah,” she allows, “yeah I’d say so.” 

“It’s the first time I’ve performed it,” Victoria explains lightly. She tilts her shoulder back to accommodate Diana’s intrusion on her personal space expertly, with the air of someone who isn’t a stranger to this type of affection. Diana doesn’t miss the way Andrew’s gaze follows the movement hungrily, “so she didn’t really know that would be happening but I think she got the message.” 

“Very deep message,” He commented, smiling and taking a step closer. Diana forces herself to keep smiling and not harden at his suddenly close proximity. 

“That it was,” Diana laughs gently, bringing a hand to her chest in a faux-doting manner and looking up at Victoria with more adoration than strictly necessary. She makes sure that she’s much closer than she would usually be, to the point that if she tilted her chin up just that bit more she’d be pressing her lips to Victoria’s jawline. It’s a show, she thinks to herself, and as she sees him beginning to watch them more carefully than before, “She really surprised me.”

“And myself for that matter,” Victoria jokes, letting a hand drift down to Diana’s waist and Diana internally praises Victoria for the move. It’s exactly what she needed, because after the very first movement Diana could tell exactly what he’d been searching for—not that it hadn’t already been obvious from the way his stare lustily explored Victoria’s figure, but the way he’d been looking at them was a dead give away. A freebie almost.

“Well,” Andrew says charmingly, “I was surely dazzled. In fact, that’s why I’ve decided to speak to you today, would you care for dinner, or drinks?” he offers. _Hook line and sinker_, Diana thinks to herself, letting a smirk drift onto her lips. 

“How about you join us for some wine at the house?” Victoria responds. They’re technically minors, but who in the town would deny their golden girls? Liquor stores readily turn a blind eye and he had been the one to suggest drinks, it’s a safe bet. Again, Diana praises Victoria’s insight. 

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “Let me fetch my coat and we’ll be on our way.”

“Of course,” Diana says, settling her hand over Victoria’s just to further push the imagine into his mind, “we’ll meet you at the parking lot.”

“See you then,” he responds, turning and heading off in the direction of the seats. They watch as he shifts through the crowd of crew men cleaning up after the show. 

“Do you,” Diana pauses, knowing that they aren’t alone and frustrated that she can’t finish her sentiment without letting others in on their conversation. Not for the first time that night, she wishes, selfishly, that they were alone. _Do feel it? The urge?_ She thinks at Victoria, really hard, and hopes that she gets the message.

“Yeah,” Victoria breathes out, affecting a nod to show how badly she does, “yeah, I do.”

Diana lets out a thoughtful hum and lets Victoria guide them out of the building.

___

“Would you like to ride with us?” Diana offers, _please say no_, she thinks to herself as she eyes the man.

“I would love to,” he responds, and Diana cringes internally, “but I drove here. I could just follow along behind you?” She just barely keeps herself from a sigh of relief—it’s a close call, it really is. 

“That would be alright,” Victoria says, opening the car door for Diana already and smiling at him. “Just follow closely so you don’t get lost,” she orders.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Victoria turns to Diana and asks “What are you planning?”

“You know about the rumours, right?” Diana asks instead of answering. She’s not looking at Victoria but it isn’t out of evasiveness rather a focus on pulling out of the parking lot. She can’t have Victoria knowing she called him here, so she’s got to give her half-truths, and she hates it. 

“Which ones?” Victoria questions sarcastically, looking behind them and trying to memorise the man’s license plate. 

“The incest ones,” Diana responds as she backs out smoothly. 

“Oh,” Victoria says distractedly, “yeah, of course I do.” 

“He believes them,” Diana continues, as conversationally as ever.

Victoria whips around to face her fully, “What?” 

“He—”

“Yeah, I got that,” Victoria laughs disbelievingly, “why does he believe that?”

“Because he’s a pervert,” Diana says bluntly, “and the way we were acting wasn’t exactly dissuading him from the assumption.” 

“Okay,” Victoria says, nodding, “why is this important?” 

“Because you’re going to hurt him,” Diana answers casually.

“What?” Victoria balks.

“Don’t give me that look,” Diana scolds gently, tearing her eyes from the road to meet Victoria’s incredulous gaze, “We need to know for sure, Vic. So far the only things you’ve actually hurt are animals—maybe,” she swallows, “maybe that’s it.”

“Stop being so naive,” Victoria snaps, grabbing Diana’s wrist sharply and ignoring wince that it produces, “we both know.” 

“Do we?” Diana asks, suddenly turning in her seat to face Victoria, not bothering to pull herself out of the grip, “Do we know anything about it at all?”

“We know it likes hurting things,” Victoria says slowly, expression twisting in anger, “we know it’s good at hurting things—we know it’s cruel, and vindictive and—” 

“And that it’s you,” Diana counters. “It’s you and that’s all I need to know to know that there should be hope.”

Victoria pauses. 

Then laughs. “I don’t want to be mean,” Victoria begins sarcastically, “but this is literally the most stupid I’ve ever seen you be.”

“Victoria,” Diana’s voice is a hoarse and small thing, resigned in ways that showed exhaustion on levels only sacrificial lambs ever found. You did that to her, it whispers from inside Victoria’s chest, take a good look at her—the best example of you ruining the most beautiful things.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Victoria growls, “for someone so smart you’re really fucking idiotic, you know that?” she laughs, it’s angry and sharp—but still only an echo of everything she’s capable of. “So many better choices and—”

Diana’s hand twists painfully out of her grip and takes hold of the emergency brake, pulling it up so fast there’s a click that sounds like the breaking of plastic. Victoria barely has time to realise that it’s the noise of the plastic running under the lever snapping in half before the car lurches forward and the sound of wheels burning into asphalt fills the air with a loud screech-y whistle. “I don’t think you understand.” Diana’s knuckles are bleach-white around the shaft of the emergency brake. “You are all of my choices,” she shakes her head, “the best and worst of them, there’s nothing else, I can’t choose anything else because,” Diana swallows so hard she can see the outline of it going down her throat, “because I can’t.” The words are viciously honest, she uses the truth like it’s a weapon. 

Victoria could feel the fight leaving her bones. “Diana.”

“Just give it a try, Vic,” she says lowly, “you’re not a monster—you’re,” she breaks off, the way someone would if their voice refused to work anymore “you’re not Dahmer.” 

_No_, Victoria thinks to herself, _I’m worse—I’m Macardy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used here isn't original. Full credit to the band Bears Den and their song "Gabriel"


	4. The First Time It Happens, It's Planned

“Wine?” He asks, smiling slightly. “Aren’t you a little young for that?”

“Are you going to stop us, Andrew?” Diana teases, twisting her glass around idly. 

“No,” Andrew responds, “I think you’re responsible enough to decide what you can and can’t do.” 

“Mm, that’s certainly true for myself,” Victoria hums, “don’t know about this one though.” She laughs lightly, sitting down next to Diana and carefully avoiding closing the space between them. It’s a close call, instinct and reflex call for her to reach out but she keeps her hands to herself, just barely redirecting them from their course but she manages it.

Diana slaps her on the shoulder playfully, “Victoria, you know I’m the responsible one.” 

“Sure,” Victoria allows easily, winking at Andrew just to further emphasise their charming banter. Andrew watches on, and Victoria hates it, just hates him for it. Andrews eyes rove them, then catch on the bottle on the table. 

“A 1950’s Cabernet Sauvignon?” Andrew reads out, sounding impressed. 

“Only the best for our guests,” Diana responds, leaning forward to take the bottle from the table and execute a perfect restaurant pour for Andrew’s glass. Intentionally or not, the hand she put on Victoria’s thigh for support catches Andrew’s eye. 

“You’re so corny,” Victoria complains, watching Diana’s movements carefully. She doesn’t miss the way she leans forward more than necessary, or that her shirt is buttoned one lower than usual.

“Don’t lie,” Diana counters, leaning back against the couch but keeping her hand where it is, “you love it,” she coos poking Victoria in the chin childishly. 

“That I do,” Victoria catches Diana’s hand and lays it on her lap, confirming the words with a smile. Victoria knows Andrew is watching and, despite her better judgement, lets herself stare for a few more moments. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s Diana, but she lets it go on for just a bit longer than it should. Finally, she turns to face Andrew and clears her throat to gather herself. “So.” 

“So,” Andrew parrots, swishing his wine around in his glass, Victoria pointedly ignores the part of herself that begs to tip it over his pristine white shirt. 

“You’re not here to just hang out,” Victoria says, taking a sip of her red and peering over the rim of the glass to gaze at Andrew, as casual as she can be. 

“You are correct,” Andrew says, standing and rounding the table so that he is directly in front of them. 

Victoria waits, because that’s what she does, she lets you stew until you’re boiling, until your skin aches to give the words you’ve been keeping, until staying quiet for any longer makes you turn to acid, until you can’t help but be the first to cave. Diana wants to tell her to say something, to get on with it because the silence, even when it isn’t directed at her, is unnerving. Victoria has this talent of sitting through the most agonising pauses, it’s what makes it so easy for her to get people to tell her things, she sits and waits until they give it out themselves, until they’re falling all over themselves to fill the gap. Diana thinks it’s because she’s most like herself when she gets like this, most like a black hole; and everyone, even those who aren’t clued in to Victoria’s other side, can sense that there is something very deeply wrong. 

She wants to make her stop, because she could, she could lay an arm on Victoria’s shoulders right now, bring Victoria out of the darkness that she’s pulled out, Victoria would stop for her. She always stops for her. She could. She would disrupt the quiet. 

But she knows that Victoria’s intimidating silence is their best move. It’s something she’s learned over the years, that when it comes to Victoria Macardy, you always break first. 

“I’ve come to talk shop,” Andrew says finally, because of course Victoria won out. Still, he’s managed surprising them both so Diana adds a tally to both their sides, albeit begrudgingly. 

Victoria chances a glance towards her before turning back to the conversation at hand. “Okay,” Victoria begins, flicking her wrist like the conductor of a choir, _sing for me_, it beckons, “talk.” 

So he does. 

Andrew spins them a picture of Yale, the library with an impossible amount of books, with long winding campus stretches, with the ideal college life. He tells Victoria about the baby grand in the music auditorium that’s hers should she so wish it, and Diana, despite being quite entranced by the vision herself, can tell that Victoria isn’t invested. She’s interested, sure, she wouldn’t still be listening if she weren’t but Diana doesn’t see her falling in love (She wonders if she ever will).

“So?” Andrew asks, sitting down on the other side of Diana. Diana has to very sternly force herself not to shift away. 

“So,” Victoria drawls out, and Diana subtly tightens her hold on Victoria’s hand because she knows she can’t handle another bout of silence. “So…” Victoria reiterates, changing course last minute, “…I need to think about it.” She finishes lamely. One point Andrew, Diana tallies again, because that would’ve gone smoother had she let Victoria handle it, she should’ve but she didn’t because she didn’t want to sit through another appearance of Victoria’s other half. Damn. 

Andrew looks shell-shocked, and honestly, Diana can feel his pain. Anyone who’s given such a convincing speech would be shocked at being snubbed, hell, she knew what Victoria was going to say and it still surprised her. Still, despite her sympathy, Diana puts the points at an equal standing again. 

“Is there anything I can do to convince you?” Andrew asks, sidling in even closer laying a hand on Diana’s thigh.

Diana winces, because he just lost the game for himself and her game is just starting. 

Victoria leans over and places her hand over his, “I’m afraid this decision is mine entirely,” she says, sickly sweet whilst prying his fingers off, gently but insistently. 

“Don’t like to share?” Andrew persists, sliding his hand out of Victoria’s grip and higher up Diana’s thigh.

“Can’t share what isn’t mine,” Victoria retorts, pulling away when Diana nudges her in the side. 

“So you’re still denying it?” Andrew laughs, tightening his hold. Diana forces herself not to flinch. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diana says, shifting higher up on the couch to lower his touch.

“Please.” He stands, right in front of Diana in a way that made sure that she can’t get off the couch without going through him first. “We all know what I’m talking about,” he chuckles, “the rumours are rampant aren’t they?”

“Only amongst the depraved,” Diana retorts, “the perverse.” 

“Is it really,” He asks, dropping to his knees and laying a hand on both their legs, “look at you two, strong beautiful women both of you, is it really so disgusting?”

“She’s my sister,” Victoria spits, trying to pull away but being kept there by his hand. _He’s stronger than he looks_, Victoria acknowledges with a growing amount of worry. 

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers, leaning down and pressing a kiss onto Diana’s bare knee, sliding a hand up and pushing the fabric of Diana’s skirt aside. 

“Stop,” Diana says firmly, pushing at his head but he only takes her hand in his, not slowing at all. “Stop.”

Then, Victoria grabs him by the hair, pulling so hard Andrew makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. “The lady said stop.”

Diana knows that tone of voice, knows that dangerous edge, it’s terrifying, as it always is, but it also means that she’s protected and that’s really all that matters at this moment. 

“Okay,” He says, ducking his head out of Victoria’s grasp, standing up and backing off. “okay, I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t get to say sorry and be forgiven,” Victoria says lowly, “not after that.”

Diana knows she should stop her now, because this is her last chance if she wants to but they have to know. _Every fact starts with an experiment_, she reminds herself forcefully, and everything is right to the plan, everything is fine. __

_ _ “I,” Andrew pauses, chuckling lightly and taking Victoria’s wrists in his hands, “c’mon, let’s just start over.”_ _

_ _ “I don’t think so,” Victoria snaps, pulling back and kneeing him in the chest. Andrew stumbles back, coughing like he’s broken something. Victoria backs him up into a corner and Diana very suddenly knows that Victoria had been right, about already knowing before it even started, about everything. Andrew stumbles up against a table and Victoria takes a flower vase in her hands. _I like that vase_, Diana thinks to herself, then follows it up with the realisation that she’s in shock. _Nothing’s even happened yet_, she chides sternly, then there’s the crack of porcelain sounding through the air and Diana corrects herself, nothing that I haven’t planned for. _ _

_ _ “Is he out?” Diana asks, standing and walking slowly towards Victoria. _ _

_ _ Victoria sends a savage kick straight to Andrew’s chest. He barely stirs. “Yeah.” _ _

_ _ “How did that feel?” Diana asks, finally reaching Victoria. She takes a chance and puts her hands on Victoria’s shoulders, digging her thumbs into the tense muscles and turning them in small soothing circles. Victoria lets out a tiny hum of acknowledgement, sending another kick into his chest. Diana’s glad Victoria isn’t facing her, because it means that now she is free to wince at the savagery. Then another one, and Diana lets Victoria indulge for a few more moments before finally digging her heels in. “Stop now, you’ll kill him if you go any longer,” She whispers gently, already expecting resistance, not expecting what happens next. Victoria to shudder, beautifully and unguardedly like those are exactly the words she needs to hear. It’s a fucking atrocity it’s being cruel that gets her off, Diana thinks to herself, she’d be so purely beautiful if not for this._ _

_ _ Still though, Victoria stops and it gives her the reprieve she’d been so craving since Victoria started. “It felt,” Victoria stops herself, the way someone does when their voice refuses to keep, when they’ve given all the breath in their lungs, when it is simply impossible to continue. Diana rushes to continue her ministrations, letting her hands trail down to rest on Victoria’s arms and up again to curve gently over her shoulders. Victoria sighs minutely at her efforts, though Diana can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or relief, “it felt amazing,” she whispers then, and it’s a lousy confession. She’s admitting to something that Diana already knew. _ _

_ _ “Okay,” Diana says, because it is okay, because she already knew this was a possibility, because it can’t not be okay, because it is how it is and there’s nothing they can do to change that. Not now. “Okay, look at me.”  
Victoria turns and faces her, so close that their foreheads bump into each other and the bridges of their noses are overlapping. Despite how close she is Diana doesn’t step away because she knows, better than anyone, that if she shows how terrified she is then everything she’s planned for is all for naught. “Everything is okay, Vic, we’re going to figure this out.” _ _

_ _ “There’s nothing really to figure out though,” Victoria says with a watery, regretful smile. “Not with me, anyway, we’ve done what we can do.” _ _

_ _ “We knew this was a possibility,” Diana excuses, lifting her hand to hold the side of Victoria’s face, “now we’ve confirmed it, we’re a step closer to whatever the end game of this is.” _ _

_ _ “Aren’t you angry?” Victoria asks quietly, “aren’t you disgusted?” She’s kind of fearful, kind of frightened, a lot nervous, a lot apologetic._ _

_ _ Diana is, she really is, she’s been holding back bile from the first kick, from the crack of porcelain. She can feel it burning like acid up her throat, she’s finds it fucking repulsive. It’s a miracle she hasn’t started gagging because she’s practically choking on guilt and disgust, practically foaming at the mouth with it. She’s seething, with herself, for not running away, for arranging this, for everything and she’s deeply, irreversibly revulsed by this part of Victoria. _ _

_ _ But she can’t do anything about it, because she’d been raised loving Victoria, irrevocably, irreparably, and worser still, unconditionally. There’s nothing she can do about it. _ _

_ _ Her blue irises follow every flicker on Diana’s face, and Diana can feel it like a fucking laser tracing her features. I’m sorry I’m like this, I can’t help it, her eyes say, half lidded from where they gaze down at her. Her stare from underneath her lashes is something diabolical, Diana thinks, because anything can be forgiven with it trained on you._ _

_ _ “No,” Diana says, cupping Victoria’s cheek in her hand, and it’s so impossibly soft that she wants to cry. You’re such a good monster, she thinks, you keep fucking pulling me in. Diana sniffs, nods to herself, “No,” she laughs quietly, “I’m really, really not. Gosh.” She chuckles, pushing Victoria back a bit, making them stumble into the unconscious body. They stop, only because Victoria’s leaning too far back, her calves pressed against Andrew’s shoulders, which are, thankfully, still rising and falling, and her forearms resting on the cabinet, their legs tangled together. Diana takes a deep breath, then pulls her right foot back, Victoria just keeps looking her in the eyes, and Diana brings it down on him hard. So hard she can hear the echo in his chest cavity. “I love you.”_ _

_ _ Victoria closes her eyes, lets out a heavy breath, does this turn you on? Diana thinks nastily, hips pressed tight against Victoria’s, you fucking monstrosity, does this turn you on? She asks in her head, the same way Victoria asked her whether or not she was angry. Fearful, accepting of whatever answer is to be given._ _

_ _ Victoria opens her eyes, sees the question in Diana’s and shakes her head, deny, deny, deny, she does. _ _

_ _ And Diana is violently hit with the destructive knowledge that they are both lying to each other._ _

___

It’s a grey area though, isn’t it? He’s a fucking terrible guy. He sexually assaulted five girls, not including them. It’s good, what they did was good, on the bad side of good, of course, but it was good.

The ends justify the means, right?


	5. This Is How It Goes: Victoria Does Something Unforgivable, Diana Forgives

It becomes a fucking headline, of all things. “Two High School Girls Sexually Harassed by College Talent Scout Fight Back and Severely Injure Attacker” reads the largest text on the local news paper, painting them as heroes, the way Diana had planned. Victoria covers a triumphant smirk by putting her mug over her mouth and ducking her head. Diana excuses herself silently from the table, the way one would when they’re reliving events that had traumatised them. 

Diana can feel Victoria’s appraising stare on her back, it’s proud, right now, proud of her. And normally Diana would preen under the attention, straighten under her evaluation but it’s sickening now, not Victoria, never Victoria, but the feeling of being praised for something this damningly wrong is so guilt-inducing. For now Victoria thinks she is acting, which is the best for both of them. She doesn’t need to know about the way Diana will crumble in the bathroom, nor the way she will bite her fist to keep from sobbing until it aches to bleed and only stop when she tastes iron, or the way she will apply copious amounts of concealer on the underpart of her eyes and pray that no one sees the slowly greying shade of her skin. 

Victoria doesn’t need to know these things because Diana knows what happens when Victoria sees she’s hurting something, sees she’s killing something. As soon as Victoria figures out she can destroy something she can’t help herself.

Those things don’t make it out alive, ever. 

Diana doesn’t think Victoria would hurt her, but she didn’t think Victoria would hurt Andrew either. It’s a pity that Diana was born smart because if she were of average intelligence then she would be able to convince herself otherwise. 

Still though, she’s got a limited amount of time before Victoria comes looking, because that’s what Victoria does, she’s a hunter. She picks herself up off the floor and trudges to the mirror, already trying to push away her tears though they haven’t even been fully drained. She waits, then waits some more and for one insane moment she thinks maybe Victoria isn’t looking for her. 

“Diana?” Victoria asks through the thick wood of the door. 

Too good to be true. 

“It isn’t locked,” Diana calls from where she’s bracing herself against the sink and trying to keep from letting tears spill over. 

The door opens slowly and Victoria steps through. Diana can tell she’s trying to be gentle and slow, like she’s finally got a read on the situation, on how Diana feels and it’s a very big, very bad red flag. Victoria always sweeps into a room, she doesn’t do it intentionally, Diana knows, because if she did then it wouldn’t be quite as unendingly luxurious in its slithering presence, it’s something Victoria can’t control and something Diana has learned comes with the territory of being a psychopath. When your mind is completely detached and above all worldly things, it reflects on yourself, it’s why insane people like Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer were considered charming. “So.” 

“Don’t do that,” Diana says immediately, whirling around preparedly, “it’s—I don’t want to handle,” she gestures vaguely in Victoria’s general direction. “I don’t want to handle that silence bullshit you always pull.” 

Victoria smiles like Diana’s being all sorts of adorable and the fluttering in Diana’s chest at the sight does nothing to help the guilt that accompanies it. “Sorry,” Victoria offers, approaching quickly now that she knows nothing big is wrong. Because this isn’t big, really, it isn’t. It’s really, really small in the larger scheme of things. Diana is snappish when she’s stressed, it’s just one of her things and Victoria understands. Diana has a lot of tells, and if this was something big then she would tell Victoria, because that’s how it works between them, they’re honest with each other. This wouldn’t work if they weren’t. “I just thought you’d appreciate the company.”

“Does it look like I do?

Victoria doesn’t say anything, simply stares on without breaking stride. It’s one of the things Diana loves about her, that she can be as vindictive as she likes, say the worst things without ever being blamed, Victoria doesn’t even bat an eyelash because she understands cruelty, breathes it like oxygen. When it comes to sadism, Victoria has no right to judge. 

“Sorry,” Diana says, eventually, because no matter how alike they are in this one aspect, in this one darkness, she will never be quite as inhuman as Victoria. She can’t, even knowing that Victoria takes none of this to chest, it’s herself that makes it unforgivable to leave it at that. 

“It’s okay,” Victoria says back, because for her it really is, “is it out of your system?” Victoria asks, leaning back against the counter and spreading her arms out as though welcoming any incoming attacks. 

“Yeah,” Diana responds, mirroring Victoria and letting her hand drift until their fingers overlap. “I just think it’s kind of fucked up.”

“It is,” Victoria acknowledges evenly, “but if it weren’t we’d be in jail with him, probably just a cell block over.” 

“We didn’t do anything wrong, technically,” Diana says, because Diana lives on that technically, survives only through that technically, keeps sane through that technically. If she lets go of it now then everything she’d done was for nothing at all. 

“That’s true,” Victoria allows, “but it wasn’t right either.” She shakes her head lowly, her golden locks falling gently over her shoulders, and rippling with every move. Diana’s breath catches, and, almost as if wishing to taunt the better part of herself, her own hand reaches out, to hold, to touch, to feel of its own volition. Victoria accepts the touch readily, greedily, even, as though she hadn’t expected Diana to give in to her worser demons quite that easily. The guilt strikes her sharp and out of place. She doesn’t want Victoria to think she’s angry with her because none of this is in her control, she didn’t ask for any of this shit. The universe owes them both the biggest fucking apology it’s ever owed anyone. 

So Diana, as she always does, gives in. Victoria is destruction made human, she’s convoluted, she’s fucking monstrous, 

—but she’s Victoria too, and if there’s a middle ground where horrific and biblical meet it’s her.

Victoria looks at her, all forgiving, like Diana’s the one in the wrong for feeling guilty about this. Lip curled up in the corner of her mouth, as though she’s accepting penance for Diana’s sin, compassion, empathy, like she’s looking past these ‘faults’, or maybe accepting them as they are. She’s letting Diana be weak, Diana realises, pretending she gets it. Because Diana is unravelling, just a bit, just enough to show the raw parts of her, rubbed bare. It helps her identify the sharp sting of emotion inside her, she feels alone. Alone in her guilt, alone in her humanity and Victoria’s enjoyment of the entire affair was doing nothing to help and Victoria recognised it. Pulled the truth right out of her chest, the truth she didn’t even know was there. She’s helping the best way she can, faking it to reestablish their camaraderie, their sisterhood, _we’re in this together, you’re trying to understand me as best as you can, trying to accept me as best as you can, and I will do the same for you_. She’s clumsy here, good at pretending humanity and affecting a façade in public, but her mask is crudely made and haphazardly worn. It doesn’t fool Diana as it does everyone else.

Then again, it was never meant to. 

Diana almost laughs at the fact that this manages to fool everyone else, it’s almost endearing as she schools her face into seriousness, spouting bullshit about morality she doesn’t even actually care about with the utmost regard for them, like they’re holy decree. Even the way her tongue wraps around the syllables is weird, awkward in their way. She’s trying so hard, pretending for Diana.

And despite herself, Diana finds it oddly sweet. _Here_, Victoria seems to be saying, _I can be not **totally** horrible for you_. 

“Yeah,” Diana says quietly, “yeah, you’re right.”

___

Diana avoids Victoria, because that’s really the only thing she can do. She smiles when she passes her in the halls but she doesn’t walk alongside her, sits next to her in their shared classes but doesn’t make conversation, when it’s lunch time they sit at the same table but Diana manages to keep them at opposite ends. She needs time, Diana needs time to think. She’s got new information and she needs time to process. They’re fine, really, as surprising as that is, the distance changes nothing. Diana keeps to herself and Victoria is perfectly okay with leaving it as it is. For now.

_Fact Number 1_: Victoria is a full blown psychopath. 

It wasn’t really a part of her plans, she was kind of hoping for hardcore sadist or even just plain vindictive, but it’s not like she wasn’t prepared; she’d long since accepted this to be a main possibility. 

_Fact Number 2_: What happened with Andrew isn’t just a one-time-big-time ordeal. 

Victoria would hurt someone else, maybe an animal, maybe a human, it doesn’t matter. She’ll do it again. Psychopaths don’t stop with just one, Diana had researched. It’s only a matter of time. 

_Fact Number 3_: Diana has a choice to make. 

She’s either in or out. Either she starts finding out ways to dissolve blood with something more inconspicuous than bleach or she starts hiding all the sharp objects in the house and hope for the best. 

“_Hello?_” Juliet drawls out, waving a hand in front of Diana’s eyes and snapping her out of her reverie. 

“Sorry,” Diana rushes out, blinking dazedly at the rush of being brought back to the present. She straightens, slamming her locker closed and leaning against it, trying for casual. “What were you saying?”

“I was just talking about the party tonight,” she says, rolling her eyes. Juliet has bad a habit of doing that, and usually Diana would find it endearing but right now, it’s painfully irritating. 

“Don’t—” Diana is cut off when an arm drapes itself over her shoulder and a simultaneously warm yet cold presence settles into her side. She’d know that presence anywhere.

“What’s up?” Victoria asks, flashing a thinly veiled predatory grin at Juliet. She can always sense Diana’s discomfort like a bloodhound. Diana sighs, a quiet sound that neither of the other two girls hears. She tilts her head sideways until her temple is pressed against the warmth of Victoria’s arm, and deposits her books into Victoria’s awaiting and unoccupied hand. She’s hoping the task of carrying her books will distract Victoria from her protective rage. Still though, Victoria continues to stare intently at Juliet, despite Diana’s efforts at calming her. She reaches up to grab and squeeze the fingers dangling carelessly from her shoulder in silent warning. 

Victoria gets like this, sometimes, when she can tell Diana’s uncomfortable in her current position she pulls this protective older sister act, despite the fact that Diana is a couple months ahead of her. Diana figures it’s an excuse to let herself be a bit destructive (_yeah, Victoria cares about her, but a psychopath can’t care enough to be on the level that Victoria is projecting. It’s simple, protecting Diana means fighting people. Victoria knows how to work the optics like that._).

“I was just telling Diana about the party happening tonight,” Juliet says sweetly, demeanour immediately correcting itself in the presence of the most popular pair of girls in school. No one ever really takes them seriously when they’re alone, but when they come in the matching set they’re designed to be, people can’t help but straighten. “you’re totally invited too,” Juliet smiles, practically batting her lashes. Diana can’t help the scoff that escapes her throat. Victoria is invited to everything, anywhere, always.

Victoria hums, taking in the words and rolling them around in consideration, “Were you planning on going?” Victoria questions, looking straight at Juliet but obviously addressing Diana. 

“Not really,” Diana responded, pressing herself closer to Victoria’s side. 

“I think that’s a ‘no’ from both of us, Juliet.” It’s a swift cut down, but very saccharine. Diana thinks Victoria should’ve been more cruel but she also knows that anything more is seriously pushing it. 

“Come on,” Juliet coaxes, taking Diana’s hand in hers and stepping closer. _You would be so easy to kill_, Diana thinks at her, _so easy_. 

Those types of thoughts don’t bother her that much anymore, she finds. Ever since Andrew Diana has been thinking. The first time had made her physically and violently sick, had her falling to her knees in the bathroom and heaving into the toilet in disgust. The other times she’d been more prepared. Chrissy, from the cheerleading team, who always needed a ride home, whose father isn’t the best with keeping away from bottles. Madeline, from the debate club who doesn’t know better than to accept drinks from random boys at house parties, who practically fell all over herself that time Diana had addressed her by her proper name. Benny, from the basketball team who just wouldn’t stop leaving little ‘anonymous’ notes in Diana’s locker, who thinks his charming boyish grin is liable to put any girl under his spell. 

_Juliet always tells her parents she’s at my house when she spends the night with Jake_, Diana thinks to herself, _I could just tell the police about it if they ask_. 

(_“She was with Jake, she always tells her parents she’s sleeping over with me when she goes to his house! She was with him, not me!” Diana would tell the police, she would cry and they’d believe her because Jake had a history of not taking no for an answer and getting violent when denied._

_ “He didn’t spend a hundred minutes in the penalty box for no reason,” the hockey team coach would confirm, “he always did have a temper.” _

_ Victoria and Diana would lay down flowers at her empty coffin, make eulogies for the girl they would have had done in and when no one is looking Diana would apologise to the portrait Juliet’s parents would hang up._

_ No one would acknowledge the ironic origins of her name. They needn’t say it, every girl named Juliet dies for love._) 

“I don’t know, J,” Diana says, faux-affectionately, “I have so many things to do tonight.”

“You’ve been so shut-in lately,” Juliet whines, “everyone’s been talking about it.” 

She’s right, is the thing. Diana hasn’t been going out as often, she’s even stopped staying late after school. It’s all very suspicious, especially to the people who know her best, or the people who assume they know her best. She’s always been very involved with life, and as far as anyone knows, she hates staying home. 

“Alright,” Diana relents, and Juliet grins victoriously, “alright, I’ll come.” 

“And you?” Juliet asks, practically bouncing as she turns to Victoria. 

Victoria’s eyes cut to her, questioning, “Can I?” She directs to Diana, thoughtlessly. 

Juliet’s eyes bounce back and forth between them, obviously taking this moment in to gossip about. _Victoria asks Diana for permission when they go places_, Diana can already hear her whispering, _god they’re so codependent, it’s weird_. 

Diana swallows past the lump in her throat, “Yeah, of course, who else is going to be the DD?” Which is possibly the most stupid response she could have brought out because Victoria can’t even drive but it’s enough to push the conversation through the dip. 

The smile Victoria sends her is blinding in intensity. “We’ve got a party to go to!”

___

It’s late, probably 2:00 am if Diana has to hazard a guess. Juliet had long since abandoned her to cheat on Jake for what might be the 13th time, if Diana has kept track correctly. The place is unsanitary at best, a quarantine zone at worst. It’s a bar that all the locals go to and they never card because this is a small town with small people where everyone knows everyone. The owner, Lucy, is soft on high school girls who’re good at getting into trouble and bad at knowing their limits because she used to be one of them.

If y’all are going to get into trouble I’d rather it be where I can watch ya, she had confided to Diana over the scratched up hardwood of the bar, picking at rotting varnish and smiling over the rim of a glass. It’s best for all of us if I keep an eye on the wild youth, she’d said, all soulful dark eyes and southern charm that Diana had believed in, wholeheartedly.

She knows better now, Lucy was looking for profit where she’d find it best, young ones with no indication of how much a real cocktail should cost and be eternally grateful for someone turning a blind eye to all the bad things they did at night. 

Diana cranes her neck, searching nonchalantly for Victoria. She trusts Victoria isn’t stupid enough to kill someone in a place this public but she does need to know if Victoria’s going to try and take someone home this night because that’s not ideal either. Her stomach lurches when she sees Victoria sitting at a stool by the bar with her hand on an unfamiliar man’s chest. 

Diana pushes her way through the crowd, ignoring the noises of protest when she parts the people. Eventually, she does get close enough to see who Victoria is talking to.

Juliet. Diana narrows her eyes into a dark stare, hoping against all portends suggesting otherwise that Victoria would see her, or feel her presence, and she’d end the conversation where it sat. Victoria doesn’t see though, as expected, Diana hadn’t really thought she’d feel her presence but she’d been hoping. It’s rather difficult to feel someone out in a crowd, and no matter how adept Victoria is at it, the position that Diana is in is difficult to spot, even to the most observant. 

Diana adjusts her gait, turning it into an imitation of sloppy stumbling, as though she actually drank something other than virgin mocktails. She pastes a too-wide smile onto her face and resolves to cut off whatever is happening between Juliet, Victoria and her date. “Victoria!” She yells out as she slings an arm clumsily around the girl’s shoulder. She takes a risk and turns, only to be met by Victoria’s watchful eyes. Instantly, cold strikes her hard and sharp. Victoria’s stare is appraising, so serious, so sober.

Diana had always been bad at lying to Victoria, but then again, she never thought she’d ever need to. 

Diana knows, suddenly, that there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that she’s fooling her. 

“Diana!” Victoria says back, just as loud, just as exuberant. “god, you’re drunk.” She laughs into her ear, tilting her head until her mouth is hidden by Diana’s hair. 

She isn’t, they both know, but Victoria isn’t going to risk losing face by calling Diana out. 

“I know,” Diana intones, leaning a healthy amount of her weight into Victoria, just enough to make her stumble, not enough to make them fall. “I had _so_ many drinks.” 

“None of them had any alcohol in them though,” Victoria retorts in a whisper, just quiet enough not to be heard by the rest of the world but loud enough that Diana can hear it over the crackly static filled song playing on the vintage jukebox connected to the old speakers. Then louder, so that Juliet and her mystery man can hear, “nowhere near as many as me!” 

“You wanna fight?” Diana asks jokingly, leaning in closer than she would usually to emphasise her inebriated state. She turns to see Juliet laughingly order a set of shots, two for each of them, then, as an afterthought almost, her eyes slide right to see the man Victoria had been flirting with. 

He’s nothing special really, just barely falling into the average part of the handsome scale, really grasping at the edge of that cliff. Still, Diana pulls a flirtatious smile because men are simple, predictable creatures and she’s painfully aware of being 3 miles out of his league. “Diana Harolds, at your service.” She introduces herself, charmingly disarming in the way she’s known for best. She emphasises the last word with a pointed up and down, the purposeful bite of her lip clarifying exactly what type of service she was presenting herself for. 

“Lucas Lewin,” He says, as though Diana won’t forget his name within the next thirty minutes. 

“Well, Lucas,” Diana says, letting the name roll off her tongue in a way she knows would catch any healthy young man’s attention. “You have a beautiful name.” 

“It sounds better from your lips,” he flirts. Victoria hides a grimace by lifting her first shot glass and tossing it back. 

Diana only grins at him before turning and doing the same with hers. 

They drink, 5 times more for each of them and at some point Diana ends up tipsy, enough that if she looks down she’ll get dizzy but she’s fine enough that she still has her original plan in mind. She lets her arms drift to Victoria’s waist as the girl downs yet another shot, _she’s going to get drunk if she continues like this_, Diana thinks to herself bitterly before pressing down harder. 

Victoria pauses, looking down at Diana’s hands as they work soundly against her abdomen, fingers teasing the edges of her shirt up and resting against bare skin. She inhales sharply before turning to look at Diana. _You’ve made your point_, Victoria’s gaze says, _what is it that you want?_

_Let’s go home_, Diana’s intones, 

“Okay,” Victoria responds, though they’ve said nothing out loud, because she gets Diana like that, she understands her infuriatingly well. 

So peacefully, for once, they leave.

___

Diana drives as she always does, as she has since she learned to drive, and she parks all the way at the other street so none of their nosy neighbours gossip about how Victoria Macardy and Diana Harolds came home way too late with barely any sobriety left between the two of them.

When they finally stumble onto the porch Victoria picks the lock, as she always does on nights like these because Diana left the house key on the hook when they left that night, so that should Ms. Harolds check she’d assume they were home. 

Diana always has a way of making sure they get away with these things. 

She goes up first, Victoria usually ascends the stairs alongside her but something about her demeanour may speak of wanting solitude because the other girl only stares. 

Diana opens her door quietly, trudging over to the side of her bed. She crouches and undoes the laces of her shoes, kicking them off so violently they bounce off the legs of her wooden vanity. The reflective glass shakes, then twists so that she’s forced to see herself in the mirror. She scowls at herself, pulls her belt undone and wrenches herself out of her jeans before tossing them wayward, she straightens then climbs atop her bed. Standing on top of her bed she is perhaps 8 ft. in height, tall enough that she feels like the knights of legend who fight dragons and slay their enemies, who’re invincible and only put in the ground by divine forces outside of any man’s power, she feels powerful and she almost laughs at her own naivety.

She used to stand on her bed because it made her feel like she was taller than anyone else in the world, made her feel like it would be impossible to topple her. Now though, if she looks to the other side of the room, instead of finding her trusty companion she finds yet another divine force fit to consume and wreck her. 

Diana closes her eyes, then opens them. 

As if by magic, Victoria is standing right where her gaze rests. 

“Drink with me?” She asks, holding up a bottle of whisky they swiped from their uncle at the thanksgiving dinner a few months back. She asks as though it isn’t already a forgone conclusion and Diana is thankful for it. 

“Yeah,” Diana responds, letting her knees fold underneath her. Victoria throws herself onto the mattress, giggling lightly when she bounces. “What’s up, V?” 

“You know what’s up,” Victoria mumbles into the cushion. Diana reaches over and undoes the girl’s braid, shaking it out of its shape and then, even after that, letting her hand linger. “You always know what’s up.” 

Diana hums, carding a hand through Victoria’s hair gently. 

“I don’t even know how to hide things from you anymore,” Victoria admits.

“You don’t have to,” Diana responds, prying her fingers off the bottle to take it by the neck and knock back at least 2 shots worth of liquor. She anchors her nails into Victoria’s scalp and turns her head until she’s facing her. She knows it probably hurts but Victoria doesn't seem to mind when Diana hurts her, so Diana doesn't mind either. She offers the bottle up to her and Victoria sits up so fast they nearly knock heads into each other. Diana pulls back just in time, her hand falls from Victoria's head and glides down Victoria's back, prompting a shudder that shakes the other girl's entire body. 

“It’s wrong,” Victoria says, tipping the bottle back before continuing, “I know it’s wrong.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” Diana says, because she does, “you have to let that go if we’re going down this path.” 

“I don’t have to let it go, is the thing,” Victoria responds, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and looking down at the bed, tracing the pattern on the linen with the sharp part of her nail, ignoring the way it catches on the stray threads, “it’s that I can do it while knowing it’s wrong.”

Diana furrows her eyebrows, she’s losing her. Victoria fades in and out of existence sometimes. It’s like how the waves comes in, it’s there, day in, day out but sometimes it’ll fall back and it’s dangerous. 

The only reason the water ever rolls back is because a tsunami is on the way. 

Diana taps her fingers against the bottom of Victoria’s chin, then slides her thumb up the side of her jawline in a way that has Victoria leaning back in. “Then keep it,” Diana concludes, as if it’s easy.

“I can’t because it has to mean something,” Victoria explains, desperately, “I know it’s wrong but that has to mean something to me.” 

“It doesn’t,” Diana corrects, waving a hand outwards as though gesturing to the whole world, though none of that is in here, in the room with them, Diana knows she’s caught Victoria’s attention. “I know you think that everyone has this innate conscience, this moral compass that makes them different than you but they don’t,” Diana says, “you should know, they’re all liars.” 

Victoria nods slowly, letting out a shuddering breath, a believer at least in this moment. Diana bites back a sigh of relief, knowing she's just pulled the tide back with her bare hands. 

“It’s true,” Diana insists under Victoria’s disbelieving gaze, “none of them have it to this devoid of guilt, empathy and remorse extent thing you do,” a smile, so she knows that Diana’s kidding, “but everyone, to a point, has it. Why do you think people can do so many horrible things to each other? They like to pretend they’re all upstanding and correct all the time but they’re not.” 

“I want to murder people,” Victoria says, stubbornly.

“How naive of you,” Diana comments, “you really think that you’re the only one? You really think that no one else has these urges?” Diana asks, sarcastic as ever, “you’ve never been a normal person but let me tell you, wanting to murder people is an every day thing,” just maybe not to your level, goes unsaid. 

“Okay,” Victoria says, closing her eyes and nodding twice, tucking her chin into Diana’s palm easily. A burst of affection swells in Diana’s chest. 

“Let’s go to sleep,” Diana says, placing the bottle on the night stand and untucking the blankets from underneath them. Victoria goes along agreeably and they settle in for the night.

___

_Diana’s eyes snap open, her breaths come hard and she tries to sit up but the cushions are sucking her in and Victoria’s warm hands are pressing hard against her abdomen, hard enough that the upper first part of Victoria’s fingers are edging under her ribs, that Diana could feel the long, sharp lines of her nails against the inside of her chest, that when she inhales she can feel Victoria’s fingers against her lungs. Victoria’s knuckles are pressed against the inner part of her bones and there’s an aching grind, she knows that the skin between her ribs and Victoria’s hand is bruising. _

_ Diana sits up, ignoring how it presses her further into Victoria’s impaling hand and grips at Victoria’s thighs on either side of her hips, “Vic, stop, stop that hurts.” Her voice sounds hysterical in her own ears. Victoria’s other hand retreats and Diana breathes into the loss of pressure, until it pushes her back down, until her back is on the bed again and her head is on the pillow. Diana panics and digs her nails into Victoria’s skin, Diana bucks her hips and tries to get out of her hold, even knowing it’s already too late. _

_ Victoria suddenly stops, Diana feels her fingers press into her pulse, and she smiles. Her teeth are so sharp, what happened to her teeth? _

_ “Found it.” _

_ With a start, Diana realises that Victoria is talking about her heart. _

_ The flash of steel stings true, replacing the fingers and Diana feels Victoria’s lips crashing onto hers as she faded. _

___

Diana flinches herself into consciousness, the dull, droning roar of wakefulness filling her ears. She can feel her tears sliding down the length of her cheek and down her neck but her face is winter-numb and she doesn’t think it matters, not now.

It’s just bright enough outside that it isn’t complete darkness but the shadows are still fighting the winning side of the battle. Diana stares, angry and bewitched by the war between them, because she knows the moon is coming up to the crest of its course and as soon as it shines its brightest it will leave again. Light will never triumph here, or anywhere, because darkness is the absence of light and one day, when it leaves, it will not come back. 

Victoria wakes, Diana can feel her breathing change, how the steady lift and settle of her chest stutters, then purposefully, deliberately, goes back to the back and forth deep and long drag it had been. 

She’s laying on her side with Victoria’s left arm draped over her waist, curled possessively protective while the other lies limp underneath her. It’s crushing up against her chest, stuck and tucked hard against her. It hurts but Diana only burrows into the painfully tight press more. 

For a moment, she lets it sit, lets it spread and curl over her body, lets herself indulge in the few still moments they have and even as the red blinking light of the alarm clock on her night stand begins to fade with the light of the moon falling over it, she refuses to look. 

Victoria doesn’t say anything, but Diana knows the monster is settled, if it weren’t, her touch would be more gentle. She overcorrects like that, when she’s feeling her most sadistic she’s most soft. The fact that her hold is this rough, this steadfast means that she’s more grounded, more Victoria than anything else and it’s reassuring, knowing she’s herself. 

Then, Victoria shifts and breaks the pause. Diana feels the weight of burden settle on her chest and knows they can’t go back.

She doesn’t even realise she’s shaking until her sobs are suffocating her. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Diana thinks it’s almost funny how that statement gets the exact opposite reaction it was looking for. 

For as long as you have me, nothing will be okay. 

“I had a nightmare,” Diana confesses into the open air. The cold seeps into her lungs, this conversation—it’s a one way ticket. 

“About…” Victoria trails off, prompting but also not holding her to it. 

“About you,” Diana says, turning to face Victoria. She presses her face into the junction where Victoria’s neck meets her shoulder, breathing in the smell of hard liquor and the fading scent of fabric softener mixed with cigarette smoke. She barely smells like her perfume but it’s still there, enough to give Diana the comfort that she needs. “About you hurting me,” she continues. 

Victoria doesn’t stiffen, nor pull away, but the vein on her neck twitches under Diana’s cheek, jumping like it’s going to burst. “I would never,” Victoria promises, she sounds so whole, so full, Diana’s close enough that her voice feels like it’s the end-all-be-all of the world. Idiot, she chides, you’re not supposed to feel safe—she’s a monster. 

“Hey,” Victoria cuts through her thoughts, nudging Diana’s forehead up with her chin, “I would never hurt you,” she says, “ever.” 

“It was so vivid,” Diana says. 

“I love you,” Victoria insists. 

Diana pulls back at that, laughing at the look in Victoria’s eyes. “You don’t love me, Vic,” she says affectionately, “I’m the closest you’ll ever get but you don’t love me,” she reaches up to cup Victoria’s cheek in the palm of her hand, careful to keep from accidentally dislodging Victoria’s arm on her waist. 

“I do,” Victoria persists, chasing the idea with the desperation of someone lying to themselves, “I think about you all the time, you’re the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing before I sleep, I can’t keep my eyes off you and when you’re gone I lose my mind.”

“Does your chest hurt when you look at me?” Diana counters, “when I do something cute do you feel something swell in your chest the way anger does, except warmer? Are you incapable of imagining life without me? Would you hurt yourself to keep me alive?”

Victoria is silent. 

“I would do anything for you,” Diana says, “I live and die by your whims, I give everything I have and am for you,” she explains, “that is how you love someone.” 

“Sounds destructive,” Victoria comments quietly. 

“It is,” Diana confirms, “all or nothing, ride or die, would tear my own throat out if you needed a straw. That’s love.” 

“What do I have for you then?” Victoria asks, “I can’t say that love is what I feel if that’s what it’s like but I always assumed that what I feel for you is love so what is it then?” She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back into the pillow, Diana can feel the bob of her throat as she swallows. “Jesus, what type of person can’t even love?”

“The person that I love, my sister, is that type of person,” Diana retorts, frowning and pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of Victoria’s jawline, “so you better watch your mouth.” 

Victoria laughs, a tired, ruined sound, Diana can feel Victoria’s chest lifting and settling underneath her hand and thinks that it’s much too full of effort to be real, “It should be easy, right? To love and be in love?”

Diana smiles, “Not for us, no.” 

Victoria lets herself settle. “I’d kill for you,” she starts, “I could destroy the entire world, raze everything for you. Burn cities to the ground, if you’d wish it done the apocalypse would be brought by my own hand. I can’t say I’d kill myself for you,” Victoria says, “because I wouldn’t, but I could do anything else for you, I care about what happens to you,” she laughs quietly, “that’s already so much more than I can give anyone else.” 

“You don’t love me,” Diana murmurs, forgiving, “you can’t.” 

“I’m obsessed with you,” Victoria responds. 

Diana sighs, like a weight is being lifted off her chest. It should be unnerving, should be horrific, especially knowing what Victoria is, what she’s like but it’s not. It feels like being given a benediction, and when she falls asleep, she feels secure, safe, impossibly like everything will be fine.


End file.
